


Knowing Truth (Whispering Lies)

by The_Half_Blood_Guardian



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (so happy that's a tag), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Animal Instincts, Episode: s01e07 Night School, Gen, Guilt, HOWEVER!, Human Pack Members, Lydia is getting there, So is Allison, Stiles Stilinski Deserves Nice Things, Stiles Stilinski is Part of the Pack, Stiles Stilinski is a Good Bro, and Jackson may or may not eventually be Pack, and that Stiles needs more time to shine, because friend or not, early reveal, it all depends on if he becomes less of a trash fire, she also thinks there could have been less of it in Season 1, speaking of which, sticking with someone even after he's tried to kill you?, that deserves recognition, the author is not averse to Scallison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:27:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26453371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Half_Blood_Guardian/pseuds/The_Half_Blood_Guardian
Summary: Trapped in the school that night, the sound of Allison's voice managed to subdue the Alpha's influence over Scott just enough for him to resist its command to attack his human Pack. But the wolf in his mind could just as easily have heard the hunter, and not the girl.
Relationships: Allison Argent/Scott McCall (background), Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski
Kudos: 18





	Knowing Truth (Whispering Lies)

Scott dives out from behind the bleachers a moment before they finish retracting, having barely avoided being crushed to death. He stays sprawled on the gym floor for a moment, catching his breath. His heart is pounding in his chest and he is becoming vaguely aware of the faint itch of the janitor's blood drying on his cheek when a low rumble startles him into a crouch.

He looks up and sees a huge, hunched silhouette with glowing red eyes halfway across the gym, the light of the waxing moon shining through the high windows and illuminating the room just enough that he can clearly make out the flash of impossibly long fangs and claws.

In his terror, he almost forgets the flask in his hand, his only advantage against the hulking beast. But his hands are sweating, and when the flask starts to slip, he tightens his grip reflexively, bringing it to his attention. His gaze doesn't leave the beast; he won't give it any indication that he might have something that could hurt it. 

It starts towards him, and it takes a great deal of willpower to keep himself from turning and running.

"Come on," He murmurs instead, breath starting to come faster in anticipation. "Come and get me."

And it does. Its ears fold back and it growls, charging forward. He doesn't wait for it to get too much closer, throwing the flask while there's still quite a bit of distance between them. The flask shatters on the floor right next to the Alpha, splattering a mixture of chemicals over the gym floor and the beast's side. It snarls in irritation, but shakes it off after barely a moment and pierces him with a red glare that makes something inside him curl up and whimper. A growing sense of dread makes Scott almost sick to his stomach. It didn't work. His heart leaps into his throat, making his whispered curse come out choked and nearly inaudible.

He takes the only option left to him and runs. He makes it maybe ten feet before it catches up, and it slams him to the floor with enough force to knock the air from his lungs and leave him gasping. It hovers over him, pins him so that he has no way of moving. Its hot breath hits his neck, and he trembles.

And then the Alpha howls.

The sound is deafening, would have been deafening even without his enhanced hearing, and he tugs desperately against the huge, razor-clawed hands stopping his own from clapping over his ears to protect himself from the auditory torture. It reverberates in the air around him, more primal and feral than anything he's ever heard and louder on its own than Scott's had been while amplified over the intercom.

Then the howl shifts to a slightly different pitch, and suddenly he's seizing, invisible claws entering through his ears and stabbing his brain, hooking themselves in place and refusing to budge. He doesn't feel the Alpha releasing him, leaving him alone - because he's _not_ alone, not really, the Alpha's will has sunk into him, into his mind, he can _feel_ it-

_**Shift.** _

The rumbling, inhuman voice rattles around his head, pressing in on him. His teeth ache, and there's a burning itch at the tip of each finger and toe, the tell-tale sensation that he's learned always precedes his claws coming out. He panics.

_No!_ He shouts back.

_**SHIFT!** _

He can barely hear himself scream over the agonizing spear of pure, primal dominance piercing his mind, forcing itself in and pushing him down. He fights it for as long as he can, not understanding how this is happening but knowing that nothing good can come of him being forced to change. Eventually, though, his reasoning begins to slip, and he finds it harder and harder to remember why he's even resisting the call of the Alpha.

One floor up and several hundred feet over, three frightened teenagers gather around a screaming fourth. Then Jackson sucks in a gasping breath and quiets down, and Allison and Lydia take that as a sign that it's safe to pull him up from the floor.

At the same time, the last of Scott's resistance fades. He stands, his vision clear but stained red with his wolf's senses. He breathes deeply through his nose, and the wolf perks at the scent of prey-fear that hangs heavy in the air. He follows it out of the gym, down hallways and past classrooms. Pictures of the same halls he now stalks through flash in his mind, though these images are missing the red tint that is present in his current vision. He turns a corner and broken ceiling tiles litter the floor. The cracking of the ceiling breaking apart under an enormous weight and the harsh panting and yelps of fear echo soundlessly off the walls, and he remembers sprinting away, half-dragging someone behind him.

He snarls quietly and shakes his head. These sounds and images must be a trick. Why would he need to flee, terrified and stinking of fear sweat, from his own Alpha? He is predator, not prey.

He runs his claws along a wall, satisfied at the sharp rasping sound they make against the stone. The sound of a predator's natural weapons. Predator, not prey.

He ascends a flight of stairs, dragging his claws along the metal railing, and the grating screech that results is a reassurance of his strength.

_"I said I'm fine!"_

Keen, pointed ears swivel and his head snaps towards the sound.

_**Prey,**_ rumbles the voice that is both foreign to him and the only thing he knows. A thrill of anticipation ripples through him, and he turns down the next hall, closer to the door behind which he can hear frantic murmurs and thudding heartbeats.

His footsteps are silent as he comes upon the flimsy slab of wood that is all that stands between him and his prey. Something, some part of him that he can't name and barely remembers existing, reminds him of the ring of little jingling metal pieces - keys - in his pocket, and tells him to use them on the matching bit of metal on the door. Clawed hands pull out the key ring and stick one of them into the lock. It clicks as it slides into place.

Inside the room, all speech ceases, and four heartbeats jump nervously. Even through the door he can smell the fresh wave of anxiety pouring from his prey.

_"Scott? Scott, is that you?"_

He - Scott - pauses.

_Stiles,_ whispers the tiny bit of Scott's mind that remains human. The wolf sniffs the unfamiliar term curiously.

Another voice drifts through the door, its tones fearful but also relieved. The human in him is warmed by it, feelings of fondness pacifying him.

_Allison,_ the human fragment realizes, but the vast majority of him, an angry, swirling mixture of his wolf and the Alpha's influence, snarls _**Hunter!**_ and shoves the human voice down.

He turns the key and swings the door open violently, a snarl ripping past his fangs. Every human in the room stumbles away from him, instinct telling them to flee from the predator. The female with the reddish hair screams, and his lips curl angrily at the irritating sound. But his eyes zero in on the dark haired female, whose pupils are blown wide and whose heart is hammering frantically as she gasps for breath. His eyes narrow, and a growl rumbles in his chest. She is scared, terrified, but she is a hunter. Hunters kill wolves regardless of their fear.

He starts towards her, but one of the males pulls the lid off a bottle and chucks it at him. He is focused on the female, and barely reacts in time to catch it. Some of the chemical splashes out onto his hand, burning him. He howls, dropping the bottle, and whips around. His nostrils flare.

The male who threw it smells faintly of wolf, but when he focuses on that one and breathes more deeply he can tell that he is the only wolf here. The other is a lie! An impostor!

The burn on his hand is already mostly healed when he turns on the impostor. He takes a step-

_"Hey!"_

-and is hit in the back of the head with something else, not heavy enough to do any damage, but still an irritation. He growls, looking at the little thing - a blackboard eraser - and at the one who threw it.

It’s the second male, the Stiles, the only one in the room not completely panicking. Even so, he can sense indicators of fear on him that are very similar to those present on the others.

Not willing to wait and be hit by anything else, he lunges forward, gripping the other male by the front of the shirt and roughly pushing him up against a wall. The Stiles hisses quietly, barely audible with the ruckus the other prey is now making. He squirms, and the wolf snarls again at the show of rebellion, uses his claws to pin his prey, applies just enough pressure that the tips of them puncture skin. He leans forward and presses his fangs against the Stiles' throat, not hard enough to draw blood, but more than enough to frighten him into submission. This close up, the wolf can _feel_ his prey's pulse, hear the blood rushing just beneath the surface of soft, delicate flesh. Even the two females and the wolf impostor have gone quiet.

The thought of how vulnerable the Stiles is, how very close to death, sends a jolt of excitement sizzling in his stomach, and he imagines simply biting down and tearing out that throat and tasting a spray of hot blood. The idea is intoxicating, and the Alpha's will encourages him further, but something stops him from doing so, and he merely rumbles a low growl, the vibrations traveling through his teeth and into the Stiles' neck. He feels his prey swallow, then begin to murmur, so very, very careful not to provoke the predator that grips his life between a set of fangs.

_"Scott- Scott, it's me, okay? It's Stiles."_

The wolf hears, but barely understands. He recognized two words, though: "Scott" and "Stiles." He already knows what the second one is. But what is a Scott? Curious, he ceases growling. His teeth loosen their hold the slightest bit.

_"You remember Stiles, right? Your best friend since we were five?"_

Something about the sounds that the Stiles is making causes him to release his throat, though he keeps his claws in place.

_"See? You remember me."_

He shakes his head as though an annoying fly is buzzing around it, the meaning of the Stiles' words beginning to penetrate the haze in his mind, pushing back the Alpha and calming the wolf.

Best friend.

Beneath the scent of prey and anxiety, he realizes there is something else, something his Alpha has been hiding from his recollection: Pack-scent. The Stiles is Pack?

Why would his Alpha - no, not _his_ Alpha, never _his_ Alpha. _His_ Alpha would never give the command for him to kill another member of the Pack.

The images and memories were never a lie, it is the Alpha who lied!

Amongst Pack, there is no such thing as prey. Members of the Pack who would otherwise be prey are meant to be protected, not hunted. What the Alpha wants him to do goes against what is natural. The wolf recoils at the notion. And the human takes its place at the front of their mind.

Fangs and claws retract, and the golden fire in his eyes burns itself down into a soft, dark brown. His hands relax, dropping ripped cloth. His breathing slows.

"S-Stiles?" Scott asks. Stiles sags against the wall.

"Yeah," he says, heaving a shaky sigh. "Yeah, man. It's me."

Scott looks at his fingertips, which are lightly coated with red, then back at Stiles' torso. There are ten holes in the front of his shirt, each one showing a small patch of pale skin marred by a thin smear of blood, each one placed exactly where his claws had been. Scott takes a step back.

"I… Stiles, I hurt you…"

"It's fine, Scott." Stiles denies. "I'm fine, you barely scratched me." But Scott takes another step back.

"No, it's not fine. I'm sorry… Stiles, I'm sorry. I-I didn't mean to, I swear I didn't mean to. It was the Alpha. It got in my head, it…" He shudders, looking back down at his hands.

For once, Stiles has nothing to say in response. Instead he matches Scott's steps and places his hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly, and feels some of the tension bleed out of it. Scott drags his gaze away from his hands and up to Stiles' eyes. Scott has never been great with expressing himself through words, but there is a deep sense of gratitude that Stiles can see shining back at him, and what he does or does not say doesn't matter.

Somehow, it isn't the heavy breathing or the still-thudding heartbeats that bring Scott's attention to the other three in the room, but the faint rustle of cloth as someone shifts. A near-overwhelming sense of trepidation floods through him, and from the sudden anxiety he can sense coming from his friend, Stiles feels similarly. He turns.

Jackson, Lydia, and Allison are staring at him. The latter two have tear streaks running down their ashen faces, the former is clutching the back of his neck, and all three wear varying expressions of horror.

He opens his mouth to say something, but his throat is suddenly dry and his mind is blank. He closes his mouth again and swallows thickly.

The sound of sirens reaches his ears, bringing to mind the human thoughts of criminals and police and _I just assaulted the sheriff's son_. The thoughts mix with the base, animal fear of being hunted. For a moment, he freezes. Then the others turn to face the line of windows, having obviously just picked up on the same sound.

While their attention is diverted, he does the only thing he can think to and runs.

He barely hears Stiles calling after him.


End file.
